Учитель, Студентка, и Очень Много Водка
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: Teacher, Student, and a Whole Lot of Vodka.  Ivan has to spend an entire two hours tutoring his archenemy, Amelia, in Russian. It's going to be the worst two hours of his life.  Russia/fem!America one-shot. Christmas present for flyingsaucerscout.


**УЧИТЕЛЬ, СТУДЕНТКА, И ОЧЕНЬ МНОГО ВОДКА**

**[Teacher, Student, and a Whole Lot of Vodka]**

**RATING: T**

**PAIRING: Russia/fem!America**

**GENRE: Humor & Romance**

**DESCRIPTION: Ivan has to spend an entire two hours tutoring his archenemy, Amelia, in Russian. It's going to be the worst two hours of his life. … Isn't it?**

**LENGTH: One-shot.**

**POV: Ivan/Russia**

**Hetalia characters, please consider yourselves disclaimed. (Like a boss.)**

**This story was a Christmas present for Maddie, a.k.a. flyingsaucerscout.**

**Translations are in brackets after the words because Maddie requested it that way.**

* * *

><p>I'm having a wonderful dream in which I sit in a field of sunflowers, blasting anyone who dares come within ten miles of me into smithereens with my machine gun, when I'm rudely awakened by someone pinching my nose.<p>

Not. Pleasant. At. All.

I open my eyes to find the light hazel irises of my Russian teacher, Ms. Jann, staring at me with a playful sort of air that I don't particularly appreciate.

She releases my nose (спасибо, бор **[thank God]**) and asks, "Иван, что ответь моему вопрося? **[What is the answer to my question?]**"

What, this a joke, да? **[,yes?]** I obviously don't know what her question is; I was _asleep_! Or is she too dense to comprehend that?

All I actually do, though, is smile and say, "Я не знаю. **[****I****don****'****t****know****.]**"

"Что мы делаем – ты знаешь? **[What are we doing – do you know?]**"

"Нет. **[No.]**"

I become aware of the assorted snickers of my classmates; they, apparently, find Ms. Jann's ridicule of me hilarious.

Oh, how I would love to teach them a lesson with my sickle …

But I won't, because blood is hard to clean up.

The evil teacher sighs, and then tells me, "Иван, мы будем поговорить после уроков. **[Ivan, we will talk after class.]**"

Oh, замечательный. **[,wonderful]**

* * *

><p>"You will not keep me here for too long, да?" I ask her after class, standing by the door with my too-full backpack on my back, ready to leave at a moment's notice. "My math teacher will kill me if I'm late again."<p>

"I will keep you for as long as it takes for you to explain your problem to me," she says.

"But … I don't have a problem, да?" I feign ignorance – always a good strategy for avoiding tough situations.

"Don't pull that with me, Mr. Braginsky," she says. (Твою мать. **[Literally means "Your mother" – it's a curse-type expression.]**) "Any other student who consistently failed to do his homework would fail his tests as well. But you haven't missed a test question yet. I know you know this material, but why won't you ever do any work?"

Okay. This is my chance to get her to not only stop berating me for not doing my homework but persuade her to cease giving me homework altogether. I just need a really good reason … hmm … aha!

I pouted, attempting to look as cute as possible (which isn't very cute when you're over six feet tall and most people are scared of you – but some cute is better than no cute.) "Well, Ms. Jann, I wish I had time to do my homework, I really do, but what with my job, providing for my sisters and моя бабушка, **[my grandmother,]** I have to focus on that and not on homework that would, no offense intended, be a waste of time for me, да?"

"Ivan, I am aware of your financial situation," she replies, looking at me sympathetically, "but that is no excuse. The homework I give is simple, especially for you. It would barely take you five minutes. You could probably finish it during morning homeroom. All I'm asking for is a little effort.

… Well, then. Argument countered.

I'm not beaten yet, though.

I smile sweetly at her, secretly planning how I would love to chop her head off and hoist it on the flagpole in front of my house. "Ms. Jann, there isn't anything you can do to force me to care about your class, да?"

She grins – it makes her thirty-year-old face and the short, dark brown haircut topping it look much younger. "Oh, isn't there?" she asks.

"Нет," I answer, "there is not."

"I beg to differ," the teacher says. "Somehow, I don't imagine your grandmother would be thrilled if I called her and explained how and why you're failing my class."

…

I under-estimated her.

"You _wouldn't_," I gasp.

"I _would_."

See, the thing about my grandmother is that she's scary. People think that I'm intimidating, but you can never underestimate the power of an old, Russian woman. She can out-creep the creepiest pedophile, out-frighten the most frightening teller of ghost stories, and out-fight the deadliest ninja.

And, as she used to be a teacher, she won't be thrilled to find out that I'm failing my Russian class.

"Not thrilled" is a blatant understatement.

"Fine, I'll try in class," I sigh, giving in to my teacher's wishes. "I swear it on my most beautiful sunflower. But you won't say anything to Бабушка, да?"

"I won't tell her about _how_ you're failing," she agrees, "but the quarter ends on Friday and I'm responsible for telling the parent or guardian of any failing students I have that their student is failing."

…

Твою мать.

"However," Ms. Jann adds, "I _am_ willing to give you extra credit – if you tutor the only student who's failing worse than you are. Amelia F. Jones."

* * *

><p>Amelia F. Jones, the biggest маразмот <strong>[a person who is a total and complete idiot]<strong> ever to disgrace the Earth with her presence. Amelia F. Jones, self-proclaimed hero. Amelia F. Jones, loud, irritating, and insulting beyond the scales of loud, irritating, and insulting. Amelia F. Jones, one hundred and two percent American. Amelia F. Jones, who insists on being called by her full name (middle initial included) but refuses to reveal what the middle initial stands for. Amelia F. Jones, my archenemy since kindergarten, when she stole my precious sunflower and gave me half of a hamburger instead. Amelia F. Jones, who dresses as though it's always ninety degrees outside. Amelia F. Jones, who sticks her ugly little nose into everyone's business and bosses people around as if she knows what's best for every guy in the school, his mother, and his pet orangutan. Amelia F. Jones, who, if I were to die, would be left one thing: a hamburger disguised as a bomb.

Amelia F. Jones, the person who I'm now going to have to spend two hours alone in the Russian room with, trying to explain the difference between perfective and imperfective verbs to.

…

Kill me now.

She's late, of course; punctual and Amelia go together like England and coffee. She was supposed to be here at two-ten P.M., five minutes after school gets out, but it's two-twenty when she burst into the door and bounces to her seat. Amelia never walks; she bounces, as though she's an energetic bunny rabbit or something. It irritates me, like everything else about her – she could just trudge or walk or stomp or something normal, but _noo_, she has to _bounce_, making her breasts (easy to see in her extremely revealing t-shirt) joggle up and down with her. My older sister's breasts do the same thing, but she can't help it. Amelia could control hers, but _noo_, she has to be all distracting all the time. I just hate her so very much.

"Amelia," I say, putting all of my hatred for her into that one word as I stare at her, mentally disemboweling her.

"Ivan," she counters, staring back at me.

Oh, it's _on._

"_Amelia_."

"_Ivan_."

"_Ameeeeelia_."

"_Ivaaaan_."

"_AmeeeeEEEEeeelia._"

"_IvaaaaAAAAAaaaan."_

"_AMEEEEEELIIIIIAAA."_

"Okay, can we start actually, like, studying now? This staring-contest-thing is getting boring. And we have to finish soon, because I have a soccer game to go to. _Somebody_ has to be there to cheer when Artie falls on his ass, right?"

…

She just _had_ to ruin it.

My hatred of her is going up, and I didn't even think that was possible.

"Actually," I tell her, "I think we should just do homework quietly in opposite corners of the room, each pretending the other doesn't exist. Хорошая идея, да? **[Good idea, yes?]**"

"I'd love to; I hate you, too," the American replies, "but I seriously need to learn this crap. My mom will take away my video games if I fail another test."

"Too bad for you." I sit down in a chair and take out my science homework.

Suddenly, her boobs are in my face. Holy Lenin's undersized balls, what is this дерьмо **[shit]**.

"You know, I could tell Ms. Jann that you refused to teach me anything," she informs me, her smile sweet enough I might need braces.

…

Why must all the women in my life be so persuasive?

I sigh. "Fine."

"Yay!" She bounces – oh, мои глазы **[my eyes]** – and then goes to sit down at the desk next to mine. I promptly move two desks away; I don't want to catch any of her маразм **[idiocy]**.

"Я учитель, ты студентка **[I'm the teacher, you're the student]**," I command, hoping that this will be an opportunity to show her what it's like to be bossed around for once. "Ты будешь делать что я скажу. Понятно? **[****You** **will****do****what****I****say****. ****Understood?]**"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Amelia says. "Just get on with it already."

… Okay, that didn't work.

Well, all I can do is try to explain the grammar rules to her and hope this doesn't waste too much of my time that would be better spent on other things (how to torture Amelia without alerting the teachers to it, for example.)

"Get out the translation homework due tomorrow and tell me the sentence in English and I'll try to translate it into Russian without screwing up the perfective/imperfective stuff."

"Why should I do what you say?"

"Because my ideas are the best, 'cause I'm the hero."

"Sure … wait, that's actually a good idea."

"See? I told you."

"Okay … Один **[one]**, 'I will read for one hour, but I won't finish reading the book.'"

"Um … Я **[****I****] **... будеть **[****will****] **... читать **[****read****] **… I don't remember what 'one hour' is …. а **[but] **... я ... не **[negating word]** ... будеть ... читать … uh … don't know what book is either … and, yeah. That's right, right?"

"How could it be right? You didn't conjugate будеть, you didn't translate three of the words, and you used the imperfective where you were supposed to use the perfective!"

"Well, it _should_ be right, because I'm the hero and I'm always right."

"You _do_ want to learn this, да?"

"Yeah."

"How do you expect to learn it if you think you're right when you're wrong?"

"You'll tell me what the right answers are!"

"Why should I do that?"

"You're the teacher! It's your job! So tell me!"

…

It's going to be a long two hours …

* * *

><p>"Okay, so you use perfective when you're in the process of doing something and imperfective when you've finished it?" Amelia asks me about an hour later.<p>

I face-palm. "Нет, it's the other way around."

"Well, it should be the way I said it was, 'cause I'm the hero!"

She proceeds to get up and run around the room, a sweatshirt tied behind her like a cape, pretending to be a hero.

The only thing that has progressed in the past hour is my hatred of her.

She's just … so … _stubborn_! Even when she knows she's wrong, she won't admit it, and when she's right, she holds it over my head and brags and _argh I just can't take it any more_.

…

There is only one possible solution.

It is time to break out …

THE SPARE BOTTLE OF VODKA!

Drum roll, please.

I take out the extra bottle of vodka I keep hidden in the secret pocket of my backpack for emergency purposes and take a long swig.

Ah, so much better.

Amelia stops running around the room like a five-year-old playing make-believe long enough to inquire, "Hey, what's that?"

"Ничево **[nothing]**," I answer quickly.

"It's obviously something," she says, not believing me. "Come on, show me! Show me show me show me!"

She won't shut up until I do, so I give her the bottle. "It's vodka," I explain.

"Couldn't you get expelled for drinking this on school grounds?"

"Да," I admit.

An evil smile invades her face, making her seem sinister, demanding. "Give me some."

"Um … это моя водка, не ваша водка **[this is my vodka, not your vodka]** …"

"I don't fucking care. I want to try some of that vodka. Я буду пить это водка, да? **[I will drink that vodka, yes?]**"

…

I don't feel like I have any choice in this matter.

"Да."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, Amelia and I are the best of friends. I don't know why I ever hated her. She's the best drinking partner a hardcore vodka-drinker like myself could ask for. She's the only other person I've ever had the honor of drinking with who doesn't talk, doesn't interrupt the drinking process with food – simply drinks and drinks and drinks until there's nothing left.<p>

Like I said, hardcore.

I look at her as I take another swig, really look at her, in the way that only a drunk can look at another drunk. Light, golden-y hair framing her tanned face … she resembles a sunflower … she's prettttyyy … and she has nice lips … hmm … I wonder what they taste like … I bet they taste like hamburgers … haaaamburgers … why're they called hamburgers when they're made out of beef … English makes no sense …

"Oi," Amelia interrupts my strange train of thought, "у нас нет ещё водкы. **[We don't have any more vodka.]**"

"Что? **[What?]**" I exclaim. "Нельзя! **[****Not****allowed****!]**"

"Мы будем **[****we****can****]** ... _hiccup_ … много учим сейчас, да? **[study more now, yes?]**" she suggests.

"Будем **[we can]**," I agree. "Как скажить по-русски: **[how do you say in Russian]: **'I will read for one hour, but I won't finish reading the book.'"

"Я буду читать час, а я не прочитаю книгу, **[I will read for one hour, but I won't finish reading the book,]**" she answers without missing a beat.

…

Hoooollly … I don't even know what …

She did it!

An hour of practice and nothing, but ten minutes of vodka intoxication and BOOM.

Vodka is magical.

It's officially proven.

Before I realize what's going on, she's dragging me up out of my chair and spinning me around in an excited happy-dance of _I did it I did it I did it._

The world is going around and around and around and around … it's pretty … she's pretty … especially when she laughs … and her eyes are so blue …

Blue blue blue …

Blue like the sky …

They're right in front of my eyes …

I'm not spinning any more, but the world is still spinning …

Spinning around me …

The sky is getting closer …

…

Oh, so her lips _do_ taste like hamburgers …

It's not a bad taste, though …

* * *

><p>"Ivan, Amelia, the two hours are up, you can leave no – <em>what the.<em>"

"Мы ничево не сделаем! **[We didn't do anything!]"**

"Lying on top of three desks pushed together without any pants on? Right."

"Я выучила всё урок! **[I learned the entire lesson!]**"

"Очень хорошо. Иван хорошой учитель? **[Very good. Is Ivan a good teacher?]**"

"Да ... очень хорошой … **[****Yes**** … ****very****good**** …]**"

"Good … wait, Amelia, were you just speaking in Russian?"

"Да, я очень хорошо говорю по-русски. **[Yes, I speak Russian very well.]**"

"…"

"Ivan, what, exactly did you do to her?"

"Моя водка делает чуды **[My vodka works miracles]**, Ms. Jann."

* * *

><p><strong>So, did you learn any Russian from this?<strong>

**If you didn't, here's something you'll _definitely_ remember: Ты будешь один с россия, да? (Translation: You will become one with Russia, yes?) ^J^**

**Review, or Ivan's grandmother will hunt you down and hurt you. With her cane.**

**(I think I might develop her more into an OC … how does Babushka Russia sound to you? xD)**


End file.
